OneShot Soup
by LavenderTown
Summary: "Recipe: Take two random Hetalia characters. Add a pinch of crack and a heaping load of fluff. Mix well, and serve hot." Collection of oneshots. Various characters, mainly crack/unusual pairings. Rating may go up. Requests welcome! Latest Pairing: RomaBel
1. AmeFin: One of Those Days

**A/N:** So basically, this is going to be a completely random collection of one-shots featuring some kind of pairing, and... from there pretty much anything goes! Fluff, angst, maybe even a little smut (waitwhosaidthat!)

Oh yes, and requests are _very much welcome_. I've got a lot of plot bunnies floating around in my head already, and I can't guarantee I'll be able to meet all requests because, as with all writers, I'm really at the mercy of my muse. But, I would like to cater to the wants of my readers as much as possible, so don't be shy :)

The only things I really prefer not to write are sibling/sibling pairings like Americest and what not, and non-con. Just thought I'd get that out there before I upset anybody.

Updates will be *surprise, surprise* kinda random. We'll play it by ear I suppose...

Anywaaaay, how bout a little AmeFin to start us off then? (And, no, I sadly do not own Hetalia)

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>One of Those Days**  
><strong>

**Characters:** America, Finland

**Rating:** K+

America was not having a good day. To start things off, he'd missed his scheduled flight into Helsinki for the conference and ended up spending the entire night at the airport, only to catch a horrible red eye which left him more than a little sleep deprived. Then, he realized he forgot his 70-page presentation on potential economic solutions back at home, and despite his undeniably kickass improv skills, his idea to make Christmas once a month instead of once a year hadn't made quite the impact he'd intended without all his awesome research to back him up.

And now, oh wouldn't you just know it, he just spilled his coffee on his favorite Justice League of America tie, (yes, he had more than one). And with the tight budget he'd been forcing himself to adhere to lately, he really couldn't justify buying himself another caffeinated beverage, no matter how much he may have wanted it. Honestly, all that was missing to make this the Suckiest Day Ever was a flipping full-scale alien invasion!

No, on second thought, that would actually be kind of awesome.

America sighed, making his way over to ask the barista for some paper towels to clean up the mess he'd just made, silently praying that none of the other nations would choose this particular coffee shop in which to spend their allotted thirty minute lunch break. But, with the way his day was going so far, of course that was too much for hope for. America groaned as he caught sight of not just any nation walking through the door but the motherfreaking _host_ nation himself! _Really?_ As if Finland didn't have a million other places he could go in his own goddanged capital? He had to pick the one singular coffee shop where America was busy involuntarily making a spectacle out of himself (which wasn't nearly as fun as when he was _choosing_ to make a spectacle out of himself)? Ugh. Maybe he would catch a break and the Finn would get his coffee and leave without seeing him…

_Or not._ America let out a small groan as he watched the Nordic nation's gaze travel toward him, then brighten in recognition. Man, why did the world hate him so much? He'd have to make a point of being nicer to Mexico or something, because his karma was apparently way out of whack. Though he knew it was a ridiculous (and completely Englandish) thing to do, America nonetheless fed his compulsive urge to duck behind the table he was tending to and pretended to mop up an imaginary coffee spill on the floor in the hope that the Finn would get the message and let him be.

No such luck.

"_Hei_, Alfred! Fancy meeting you here!" Finland greeted cheerfully as he walked over, steaming mug of coffee in hand. After an indulgent beat of self-pitying hesitation, America turned his gaze up to the other nation, nonchalant grin carefully in place.

"Oh hey, Tino. Didn't see ya there. What's shakin'?"

"Oh, you know. Just preparing for Round Two," the Finn smiled back, gesturing with his mug. "Um… everything alright down there?"

"Oh, _yeah_," America replied a little too enthusiastically, hastily gathering up his towels. "Just-" _bam!_ He hissed in pain as he banged his head against the bottom of the table while trying to stand up. _"…spilled my coffee,_" he finished through a clenched jaw, straightening up, rubbing his head, grimacing in pain and embarrassment.

The smaller nation offered up an empathetic wince: "That's a shame; this coffee's the best in the whole city. Here-" he set his mug on the table, grabbing America's own nearly emptied one. "-Let me buy you another. My treat."

"Aw, no, dude you don't have to do that-" America began but the Finn cut him off with a small smile.

"It's my pleasure. Anyway, I'm getting to show off my favorite coffee shop so it's kind of a win-win, right?" He ignored America's further attempts to protest and made his way back to the counter to purchase a second cup, leaving the North American to sit and await his return, resting his head in his hand, wishing for the Day from Hell to be over already so he could go back to his hotel room and sleep for a gazillion years…

"…You look pretty tired."

America startled, opening his eyes to find Finland's own violet pair staring back at him from across the table. Had he really just been dozing off? Apparently he needed that coffee more than he realized.

"Yeah, sorry. Didn't get much sleep on the plane," he sighed, pushing his glasses up on his forehead as he rubbed his eyes awake. He groaned again, forgetting that it was probably rude.

"Rough day?" Finland asked, as if he already knew the answer, and America snorted in agreement:

"Well, it ain't been no country fair, that's for darn sure," he replied, too tired to censor his "hick speak" as England called it. Accepting the freshly filled mug the Finn held out to him, America took a long sip and felt the hot liquid work its magic: relaxing his muscles, perking up his mind, and filling his stomach with a familiar, comforting warmth. He took another and realized that, even if the Finn had added a bit less sugar than was normally to his liking, the coffee itself more than made up for it with its rich flavor.

"Thanks," he finally remembered to say. "…I needed this."

The Nordic nation flashed him an appreciative smile and took a sip from his own cup. "You know," he remarked quietly after a beat of not uncomfortable silence. "…I actually really liked your presentation."

America raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's not much of a surprise. You're prob'ly the only guy in the whole world who likes Christmas more than me," he joked, but the grin on his face was warm and genuine.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Finland chuckled softly, and America felt himself settling easily into the other nation's company. His eyes drifted over the pale blond's loosened tie and casually rolled up sleeves which revealed a pair of lean, milky smooth forearms, and found himself wondering how he'd never noticed just how flipping _attractive _the Finn was before. And then he remembered a certain enormous and creepy-as-shit Swede, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

"Soouhhh… where's the big guy? Aren't you two like, you know, a _thing_?" Alfred chanced, oblivious to his own complete lack of subtlety. He winced with guilt when a dark cloud suddenly passed over his companion's formerly cheerful face.

"He'd like you to think that, wouldn't he?" the Nordic nation muttered bitterly. "Frankly, I'm kind of sick of it. He just doesn't get that I'm my own nation and should be able to make my own choices, you know?"

"Oh man, I hear you there," Alfred supplied empathetically as darker memories began to surface in his own mind. "Believe me, I know all _about_ that shit."

"Heh, I guess you do," the Finn conceded amusedly behind his mug. "…It's kind of funny, actually. If the Netherlands hadn't been such a dick, and if I'd been able to keep my big mouth shut, I might have been the one to raise you instead of England."

"R-Really?" America asked after just managing not to choke on the large sip he'd just taken. "Well, that's… uhhh…"

"Weird to think about, right?" Finland supplied calmly, running his finger in slow circles around the brim of his cup. "…Doesn't matter anyway. I don't think I'd have made a very good role model. I can't even muster up enough guts to stand up to my own best friend."

"Oh, pssh, come on. You'd have made a waay better guardian than that tea-taxing bag of douche," America replied bracingly. "And I mean, you were pretty freaking gutsy during that winter war thing, right? Anyone who can hand that flipping commie his own ass like that and not look back is pretty freaking awesome in my book!" The look he received from the Finn was enough to give America all the best kind of shivers.

"I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve, but it's nice to hear all the same," the Nordic nation conceded, blushing in a way so tantalizing it should have been illegal. The Finn started suddenly, looking down at the watch on his wrist.

"Oh, I have to get back to the conference building before the other nations start arriving," he announced, hastily re-adjusting his tie and shirt (to America's dismay) as he stood up to leave. "Sorry to take over your lunch. I'll see you in about fifteen, I guess?"

"Yeah, definitely," America replied, mentally debating whether or not to offer to accompany Finland on the walk back, but ending up deciding against it, as his mug was still pretty much full and he didn't want it to go to waste, (holy cats, that Finn sucked down that espresso like there was no tomorrow!) As he watch the Nordic nation turn to leave, America couldn't help but call out after him.

"Hey, uh, Tino?"

"Hm?" the Finn asked, turning back to him with an inquisitive grin and America was definitely not blushing, no freaking way was he blushing!

"Uhh…" America fumbled, not exactly sure what it was he wanted to say. "…Thanks again for the coffee," he finally mumbled. Yep, he was _all_ kinds of smooth today…

"Like I said, it's my pleasure," the Finn replied, and then all of a sudden, a small, almost devious grin grew on his lips. "…Say, Alfred, you know what I like to do after I've had a bad day?" America, who found himself struck even more incoherent, resorted to shaking his head in response.

"…Take a nice, long _sauna_." And, oh shit, now America couldn't get up even if he wanted to. With the sudden mental image of the Nordic nation – damp and steamy and _baring all_ – bursting into the forefront of his mind, it was all America could do to keep himself from panting like a freaking _dog_. And the craziest thing of all? America had the nagging suspicion that that was just the reaction the Finn had been aiming for.

"…Coincidentally-" Finland continued a little too innocently, "-my _personal _sauna just happens to be a two-person. Let me know after the conference if you're interested." And with a wink that told America that the other nation knew _exactly_ what he was doing, Finland picked up his empty mug, deposited it at the counter and strolled out of the coffee shop like he hadn't a care in the world.

America, between being both completely flabbergasted and insanely flipping _turned on_, did manage to piece together at least one semi-coherent thought:

Maybe this wouldn't turn out to be such a bad day after all.

~(o)~

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><p><strong>AN:** Fun Fact: According to my internet sources, Finnish people drink more cups of coffee per day than any other nation. They are also a bunch of saucy minxes ;)

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more!

~L


	2. CanUkr: Melting the Ice

**A/N:** Back with a Canada X Ukraine request for the lovely Zaura Fay. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Melting the Ice

**Characters: **Canada, Ukraine

**Rating:** K+ (I guess?)

~(o)~

Canada hung his arms over the wall of the penalty box and let out an anguished moan as he watched his team face off without him. He couldn't believe he'd been charged a penalty just seconds after the game had gone into overtime! Granted, he had technically earned it, but honestly, Al had been practically _begging_ for that crosscheck the entire game, and the sight of him falling flat on his smug face had seemed totally worth it at the time.

Now, however, Canada couldn't help feeling that he'd doomed his team to inevitable defeat. It wasn't exaggeration to say he was the most valuable player on his team by a long shot. France was pretty much useless (not to mention preoccupied with trying to feel everyone up), the Netherlands was currently high off his _ass_, and Prussia was too busy slamming Russia into walls at every possible opportunity to pay any attention to the ever-loving puck. And now, outnumbered, and with their captain effectively benched, Team Maple really only had one hope left for victory…

_Come on, Katyusha,_ Canada pleaded in his head. _Come on, sweetheart._

The whistle blew and Canada winced as his hoser-brother stole the dropped puck away from Francis with effortless ease and glided down the rink, making a quick pass to Ivan when Lars and Kat managed to successfully cut him off. _Merde._ Russia plus puck equaled all kinds of bad. The Canadian's eyes followed as the Russian barreled ruthlessly toward the goal, Kat trailing closely behind, but by the time she caught up he was already within range of the goal and pulling back his stick for the slap shot. Canada felt his heart sinking fast…

But then, in a clash of sticks and limbs, Katyusha somehow whirled past her brother and regained control of the puck. Before he knew what he was doing, Canada was on his feet with his gloved hands cupped around his mouth:

"YEEESSS! GO, KAT, GO!"

His stomach filled with butterflies as he watched his girlfriend soar back down the ice, graceful as a swan – he could've sworn he caught a flirty wink thrown his way as the Ukrainian crossed the center line and skated her way toward the other goal. Belarus and Belgium were there waiting for her of course, neither one a slouch at the game, but Kat dodged them both without batting an eye, even going so far as to check Belgium out of the way when the girl tried to block her. It was like she was in some sort of trance, abandoning her typically passive playing style in favor of sheer aggressiveness, and Canada could only stare in awe, only semi-aware of the tingling heat that had suddenly risen to his cheeks…

Goalie-gear clad England didn't even stand a chance when at last the Ukrainian girl rounded in on him. The island nation squawked and ducked as she smashed a brutal slapshot straight for his head, the puck sinking gloriously into the waiting net behind, and just like that, the game was over. They had _won_.

"HAHAAH!" Canada whooped, pumping his fists in the air. "Yeah!_ That's my girl!"_

The final buzzer sounded, and the Canadian was off like a maniac, racing across the rink straight for the object of his unequivocal affection, catching her in a wild, clumsily zealous embrace.

"_Kat!"_ he laughed breathlessly as the rest of the team skated over to join the celebration. "That was so amazing! I honestly can't believe how good you've gotten at this game!"

"Well," the girl replied, blushing, pulling off her helmet to reveal her pretty blond bob. "I guess I must've had a pretty talented teacher, _eh_?" The Canadian's face went scarlet as the girl wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a soft, sensuous kiss, which he very willingly reciprocated.

Smiling against her lips and hugging her body closer, Canada couldn't think of a possible way to make the moment more perfect. He didn't even mind America's bitter calls of "get a room!"in the background...

After all, he'd been pretty much thinking the same thing.

~(o)~

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><p><strong>AN:** hockeypsycho!Matt is, my humble opinion, one of the hottest freaking things in the whole of existence.

Please review, and remember, requests are always welcome! Thanks for reading! :D


	3. RomaBel: Low

**A/N: **Yep, another het pairing (come on, you know you love them). Romabel, while not exactly crack, has far less than its fair share of love on this site, and this is my attempt to remedy the situation. Angst-haters beware!

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Title:<strong> Low

**Characters:** Belgium, Romano

**Rating:** T (mostly for Romano's mouth)

~(o)~

Belgium crept down the staircase with all the stealth of a cat on the prowl, stopping halfway to peek through the railing bars at the sleeping form strewn across the couch below. She paused, listening for a confirmatory snore, and struggled against a sudden fit of giggles when her expectations were met with resounding force. Calming herself, she turned back to face the shadowed figure waiting at the top of the staircase.

"Okay, we're in the clear," she beckoned quietly. "I think it's safe to say he's pretty much down for the count."

Her accomplice replied with a "psh" not quite soft enough to disguise its petulance.

"After the mountain of weed that hedonist bastard smoked, I'm surprised he's not in a fucking coma," the figure muttered as he began to carefully feel his way down through the darkness. "Why the hell is he even here anywa_oww_! _Mother fucker_!"

Belgium winced as a sharp _thud_ permeated the delicate early morning air, followed by a string of growled Italian curses. She held her breath, watching warily as the Dutchman shifted in his sleep, sighing with relief when it seemed that the noise had not been enough to wake him.

"Well, I wasn't about to let him drive back home," she answered when she felt it was safe. "Be nice, Ro. He's just going through a rough time with the breakup and everything. And anyway…" she continued, giving the grumbling Italian a flirty little nudge. "…It's not like he managed to _disrupt _anything, right?" The hesitant, half-swallowed grunt she got in response was enough to make her roll her eyes and crack a smug smile.

They made their way down the stairs and tiptoed past the couch, hastily choking back their laughter upon discovering the stuffed kitty that the Netherlands had apparently retrieved from somewhere within the confines of his sister's apartment, which was now nestled snugly against the ex-empire's sleeping chest. Reaching the front door at last, Belgium waited impatiently for the Italian to lace up his fashionably-complicated boots, until she gave up and pulled the brunette upright, stuffing his jacket in his arms in the process. With one fluid motion, she opened the door and pushed him playfully out onto the porch, twisting her arm to ease the door softly back into place behind her, a small, feline grin playing at the corners of her lips.

"I had a really good time last night, Ro," she all but purred, tracing an affectionate finger down the brunette's arm, fully aware that her morning-mused hair and thin cotton tee-shirt were working phenomenally in her favor at the moment. The Italian responded fiercely – positively trembling under her touch, his face reddening up like a ripe tomato.

"M-me too," he managed to stammer at last, but the hint of a questioning frown on his face alerted Belgium to the possibility that perhaps something was going on that she wasn't quite up to speed with.

"…H-hey, Bel?" the brunette began before the Belgian had a chance to get her bearings, his voice shy to the point of disconcertion. "…Does this mean we're, um… you know… b-boyfriend and girlfriend?" He stared furiously at his shoes, breathing hard, looking ready to self-combust, and Belgium felt her stomach give a queasy lurch.

"Ohhh, sweetheart, you don't still have that little crush on me, do you?" she asked, feeling her own face flush with guilt as she watched the Italian deflate before her very eyes. "I'm sorry, I… I just thought this could be more of a…" her voice waned as she struggled to push the words out of her mouth,"…a casual thing, you know?"

The look on the Italian's face was enough to make her heart wrench in her chest. He froze for a moment, looking almost lost, before stiffening and clearing his throat, eyes once more fixating on the cold cement beneath his feet. "…Y-yeah, no, that's what I want too… I just w-wanted to make sure..."

In that moment, Belgium wanted nothing more than to pull the Italian into a fierce, apologetic hug, but even she, oblivious idiot though she was, had enough sense to know that that would do more harm than good. Instead, she choked out a watery "Soo… we're still friends, then?", hating herself for her cowardice.

Romano nodded, his jacket still hanging over his limply-crossed arms, then added a soft "_si_" which was far too uncharacteristically resigned and empty to be of any comfort at all. In a final act of desperation, Belgium leaned forward to brush her hand against his cheek the way she always did when she wanted to get him to smile, but he flinched away, as if in pain.

"Look, um… I should go," he mumbled huskily. "My dumbass brother's probably wondering where I am by now anyway." He turned and started down the steps, his grip on the railing turning his knuckles white. Belgium stared silently after him, reluctant to call out a goodbye for fear that it wouldn't be returned. She waited until he disappeared at last down the street corner, then let herself quietly back inside, blinking back the tears that burned her eyes as best she as she could, trying to convince herself that it was all for the best, but knowing in her heart that this was a whole new kind of low, even for her.

~(o)~

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><p><strong>AN:** Ahh, this made me sad to write. I don't do well with angst. As far as my characterization of Belgium goes, I imagine she's kind of like Penny from the Big Bang Theory: generally well-meaning but also just a little bit slutty. Poor Lovi :(

There will be slash in the next chapter, I promise! I'm thinking a little Spangland... what do you think? (Still looking for requests! Please please please!)

Thanks for reading!

~L


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